[ Each and every one of the souls he remembered exist on this shard, still, though in a drastically different state than when he left them. The difference in time between the shards, maybe, as of yet unstabilized. One, he cannot, and that he thinks is by design.
How, exactly, Pashtarot - not even whole, managed to both locate the spellwork and implement it is something he will puzzle over when he retires for the evening. For now, he spends no small amount of time on wild goose chases. A touch of Pashtarot's magic, here and there, like he could not help himself but leave little breadcrumbs in what he did, or he simply did not know enough to hide his tracks adequately.
In either case, after running back and forth far more than he'd like to admit, he locates the sliver of the man and is not entirely surprised to see one of the other youths leaving. Convenient, he supposes, that the ability to stay invisible is not one that the shards of Asicans either possess or know how to counter. He moves silently through Pashtarot's dingy little house, noting the lifted books from one, if not many of the facilities the Ascians utilized in the past. He'll have to clean that mess up and prevent this from occurring again.
Some of the more dangerous tomes he simply picks up and carries with him once the other man creaks his way down the steps to make tea, grumbling all the while. When he's satisfied himself with making certain the most dangerous pieces are removed from the playing field, Emet-Selch vanishes and reappears down the road, idly trailing the student? Employee? Minion? Until she reaches her home, where a woman in the yard lifts her hand in greeting at her, sweeping her into a hug.
Emet-Selch's footsteps pause, stomach twisting. Eliminating Ascians is one thing and Viktor is quite proficient. Killing children is... well. He does not look forward to the ethical discussion that might occur if it proves necessary. A nightmare to consider - children, taught by someone who was simply making best guesswork at magics beyond his comprehension, playing at a position he once held. A different sort of dangerous than those fully aware, awake.
He'll keep this to himself, then. The last thing Viktor needs is to fret about what will happen if he must eliminate them, if releasing them from tempering and Emet-Selch acting as Solus do not work.
As if to spite him, his tomestone pings cheerfully with an alert and with a discontent breath exhaled he slips into the shadows once again and reappears in the quarters they have been given. The books are spelled to invisibility save for him and Viktor and he promptly returns to himself, stripping down to take advantage of the bathtub rather than make any efforts to mix and mingle and further than he must with their hosts. A miserable place, but the bathtubs put even the one he has in his quarters to shame, all neat stonework and piped-in hot water. ]
It would be a trifle to wear a guard for a bit and ensure he has a lamentable accident, you know.
[ He may yet do it anyway. It isn't as if Viktor would know it was him, and he's quite practiced at making death look like a simple mishap. When everything is so dire, it is remarkably easy to slip in an accidental death or two.
Sinking as low as he can go in the bath while still maintaining the ability to breathe, he mulls over the situation. Healing magics can be taught, but not quickly, not easily. Those best versed would, ironically, be the asicans living on this shard, unaware of the full extent of their abilities. They would have a framework to operate off of. Better still would be supplies, though there's no easy way to ensure that they go to where they need to and aren't poached to be resold. To say nothing of how they would explain possessing such items. Tedious, all of it is so tedious. ]
The scattered settlements were as I expected - middling, struggling. I've yet to see anything meaningful from our host in terms of support or assistance.
Your blankets would also explain the frankly jarring quantity of sheep farmers out there. One could not walk down a road without throwing a stone and hitting at least six different sheep fields and you could smell the barns from a malm away.
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1/2
How, exactly, Pashtarot - not even whole, managed to both locate the spellwork and implement it is something he will puzzle over when he retires for the evening. For now, he spends no small amount of time on wild goose chases. A touch of Pashtarot's magic, here and there, like he could not help himself but leave little breadcrumbs in what he did, or he simply did not know enough to hide his tracks adequately.
In either case, after running back and forth far more than he'd like to admit, he locates the sliver of the man and is not entirely surprised to see one of the other youths leaving. Convenient, he supposes, that the ability to stay invisible is not one that the shards of Asicans either possess or know how to counter. He moves silently through Pashtarot's dingy little house, noting the lifted books from one, if not many of the facilities the Ascians utilized in the past. He'll have to clean that mess up and prevent this from occurring again.
Some of the more dangerous tomes he simply picks up and carries with him once the other man creaks his way down the steps to make tea, grumbling all the while. When he's satisfied himself with making certain the most dangerous pieces are removed from the playing field, Emet-Selch vanishes and reappears down the road, idly trailing the student? Employee? Minion? Until she reaches her home, where a woman in the yard lifts her hand in greeting at her, sweeping her into a hug.
Emet-Selch's footsteps pause, stomach twisting. Eliminating Ascians is one thing and Viktor is quite proficient. Killing children is... well. He does not look forward to the ethical discussion that might occur if it proves necessary. A nightmare to consider - children, taught by someone who was simply making best guesswork at magics beyond his comprehension, playing at a position he once held. A different sort of dangerous than those fully aware, awake.
He'll keep this to himself, then. The last thing Viktor needs is to fret about what will happen if he must eliminate them, if releasing them from tempering and Emet-Selch acting as Solus do not work.
As if to spite him, his tomestone pings cheerfully with an alert and with a discontent breath exhaled he slips into the shadows once again and reappears in the quarters they have been given. The books are spelled to invisibility save for him and Viktor and he promptly returns to himself, stripping down to take advantage of the bathtub rather than make any efforts to mix and mingle and further than he must with their hosts. A miserable place, but the bathtubs put even the one he has in his quarters to shame, all neat stonework and piped-in hot water. ]
It would be a trifle to wear a guard for a bit and ensure he has a lamentable accident, you know.
[ He may yet do it anyway. It isn't as if Viktor would know it was him, and he's quite practiced at making death look like a simple mishap. When everything is so dire, it is remarkably easy to slip in an accidental death or two.
Sinking as low as he can go in the bath while still maintaining the ability to breathe, he mulls over the situation. Healing magics can be taught, but not quickly, not easily. Those best versed would, ironically, be the asicans living on this shard, unaware of the full extent of their abilities. They would have a framework to operate off of. Better still would be supplies, though there's no easy way to ensure that they go to where they need to and aren't poached to be resold. To say nothing of how they would explain possessing such items. Tedious, all of it is so tedious. ]
The scattered settlements were as I expected - middling, struggling. I've yet to see anything meaningful from our host in terms of support or assistance.
Your blankets would also explain the frankly jarring quantity of sheep farmers out there. One could not walk down a road without throwing a stone and hitting at least six different sheep fields and you could smell the barns from a malm away.